Yet again.
Oh, bloggers. What to talk about? How about my ability to avoid typos despite intense inebriation? That's always been impressive.
How about my hair? Impressive as well. Quite long. Golden and whatnot. An admirable feature. It keeps me from looking thirteen, so all the better.
My relentless insistence on total anonymity? Impressive yet the more. The very fact that I can be this impaired and write coherently without completely giving myself away seems worthy of a gold medal or something.
I don't really know what else to say. Drunkenness is supposed to yield honestly, right? Well, here it goes:
I'm horny. It's a sad but true fact. In this City of desirable youths, of which I am unquestionably one, I am left hungry. What gives? I'm thin, I'm blonde, my hair could wrap around the Equator, and, what's more, I'm WHITE.
Have you any idea how valuable whiteness is to a young gay man? We're like the Megan Foxes of our demographic.
And nothing.
Woozie remains awesome.
Drunken links are clearly the best.
My name is BB. It's not, but it might as well be.
Fuck, am I drunk.
The City of Fate is a strange place. I wish Woozie were here. I'm really devastatingly lonely from time to time. Only from time to time. My internship helps. Work helps. Networking events, such as the one at which I got hammered tonight, help.
Sometimes I turn myself on. Is that weird?
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see that thin waist and that non-existent stomach and that fresh face and that golden hair and I just go insane. It's the height of narcissism.
Of course, I doubt I could be a true narcissist; I cannot fire myself as others can fire me. It's true.
I don't love Anne. She gave birth to me. If she died tomorrow, I wouldn't care. That may be wrong, but it's true. She's the single most selfish person I know. She was absent. If not for her colossal failures and lack of stability, my parents may not have gotten away with their crimes. I bet that heinous cunt has never thought of that, though.
Bitterness is awkward. I really don't get why I don't disown her.
Woozie just called me a boner face. We're chatting on instant messenger.
Slowly but surely, I'm building something here.
I have to go to bed. Goodnight.
I'm a young professional writing about my life and experiences.
About Me
- BrightenedBoy
- I'm a young teacher in a little town close to the Arctic Circle.
4 comments:
I think this was the wrong time to try to catch up with what you've been up to. I'll pretend I didn't read this one:)
So...you are your own type? I guess that is kind of convenient
:-)
Your post reads like the journal entries I made during the late 1970s. And I'm not saying that to scoff, but to say that I've been there.
You're such a good writer, even when you're drunk and self-absorbed.
As was I, back then. But when I read back over my journal entries, I realize how much I missed of what was going on around me, because of my self-absorbedness. So - BB - indulge as you will in some venting. But wake up the next morning and go out in the world to participate and learn and focus. You don't want to look back on these years and think of what could have been.
Reach outward. Don't get caught in the cul-de-sacs. Go on.
I always try to reach out. Believe me.
Also, I think it bears saying that most people, drunk and alone in their apartments at three o'clock in the morning after having moved to a strange city, are probably self-absorbed.
Not that I've taken offense to your comment, which I don't want you to think; I appreciate the honesty.
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